


Basic Truth

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Episode: s05e12 Basic Story, Episode: s05e13 Basic Sandwich, F/M, episode AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Annie had been in the study room instead of Britta?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Truth

**Author's Note:**

> With major thanks to Bethany, as ever - who is much less of a sadist than I am, so you have her to thank that this doesn't end before the final section. :)

Annie is in the study room.

Truthfully, he almost walks past. He'd been half hoping to run into Britta, someone who'll also be feeling the edge of the pit at her toes, the earth crumbling away beneath her. Britta is a person he can run away with, someone who needs an escape from this crappy situation as much as he does. Annie, though... he figures she'll already have plans B, C and D lined up, and he's not sure he can deal with that right now—not after the 'opportunity' he just received. But then he sees the slump of her shoulders, the thousand-yard stare, and before he even thinks about it, he's turning and pulling open the study room door.

"Hey."

She jumps slightly and looks up. And even in the midst of all this, she finds a way to smile at him. "Jeff, hi. I was just..." She trails off, waving a hand vaguely, and her smile evaporates.

"Yeah. Me too."

His chair is gone (some ridiculous, childish part of him is outraged by that—it was HIS CHAIR, they have NO RIGHT!), so he strides right past her and claims Shirley's seat instead. Annie raises an eyebrow at him, but waits for him to speak.

"So, Subway offered me a job," he tells her. At the dismay in her eyes, he adds, “Teaching ‘sandwich law’.” He hasn’t been reduced to making sandwiches for a living, not yet. Although honestly, he's not sure that wouldn't be better—at least it's a real thing that people actually need.

"Oh," says Annie, softly. "Well, that's good, at least. You'll have a job. And you'll still be here."

Yeah, he's not sure that's exactly a blessing, either. He never wanted to be the last to leave Greendale. "Yes, well... What about you?" he asks, turning the topic away from himself and his second (third? Does his law firm count separately?) failed career.

"I don't know. I'm thinking about going back to my job as a pharmaceutical rep, just for a while. They said they'd always have a place for me, if I wanted it." She seems to realize that she sounds like she's announcing a death in the family, and straightens her shoulders. "It would be nice to have a real salary again. And I can always take night classes."

"Yeah," he nods, eager to find a bright side. "Then you could finish your forensics degree in, what..."

"Six to ten years."

"Oh. Wow. Really, that long? I mean, at least you'd have a job in the meanwhile. A career."

"Yes. And it's pretty well-paid, and it's not like I have to stay there if I don't want to—I could look for something more relevant to forensics, not that I'll have the qualifications to really do anything, but I could look for an administrative role in a lab, then at least I'd be working around forensic scientists, and I could ask questions and pick things up..."

He hates that tone in her voice, the one that says she's barely hanging on by a thread, because he wants to make it better for her, wants to reassure her that it'll all turn out okay, but he can't see how. He can't even save himself, let alone her. He doesn't want to deal with any of this—he's pretty sure he can't. So he does something reckless, stupid, and self-destructive.

He leans forward and kisses her.

\---

About thirty seconds later, Jeff pulls back, looking as shocked as she feels.

"Annie…"

_No_ , she thinks, fiercely. For a moment there, all the circling thoughts in her head went silent, and she forgot to do anything but feel. She doesn't want to hear whatever apology or excuse is on the tip of his tongue—and because it's better than thinking about her life right now, because they both need this, and because _she wants to, dammit_ , she leans forward and kisses him back.

To his credit, it takes him about half a second to get on board with her plan. Then he's standing up from his chair and pulling her up from hers so he can lay her back against the table. His hand cushions her head from the hard wood, and his body is stretched over hers, so she brings one leg up to wrap around him and bring him closer. She wore a skirt today, which was some kind of inspired genius of foresight, she realizes, as she feels his hand brush beneath the hem, just above her knee. He captures her gasp, chasing it with his tongue. This is amazing, this is what she wants—but not...

"Not here," she manages to gasp between kisses.

"Mm?"

She can tell he's not really focusing—mostly because he's trying to nibble on her lower lip. "Jeff—god—Jeff, stop for a minute."

He pushes himself back quickly, looking dazed and wild-eyed. "Shit, sorry, I—"

He's going off in the wrong direction again, so she wraps an arm around his neck and shuts him up with her lips against his. It's a very effective silencer; she really should have tried it years ago. "Not here," she says again, once he's quiet. "We should go somewhere else." Perhaps there's something slightly wrong with her, but she has more of a problem with his history of sex on the study room table than the fact that it's a public space. They can lock the doors, but he can't take back first-year paintball.

" _Oh._." He gets it, and kisses her again. It seems like he's having trouble stopping. But finally he manages to pull back enough to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Annie Edison, do you want to come back to my place and make a colossal mistake?"

"God, yes," she groans.

Then he's helping her up—and of course that's when Britta, Abed and the dean burst in, babbling excitedly about buried treasure. They might save the school, at the last possible moment like always, but for a moment, when she meets Jeff's eyes, all she can feel is disappointment.

\---

"We should split up."

"Good idea."

Abed and Britta head off to investigate one of the side rooms, which confirms that they hadn't caught on to what was happening in the study room. If they had, they would never have left Jeff and Annie alone. Not that they are alone; the dean has decided to tag along with them.

"Hey, is that a Farrah Fawcett wig?" says Jeff, pointing, and when the dean looks, he grabs Annie's hand and tugs her quickly through the nearest door.

She follows him into a large room full of junk—including a jukebox, for some reason—and starts poking around unenthusiastically. Jeff doesn't even bother to pretend to investigate. He wanted to get her alone, and although he keeps telling himself it's so they can talk, he has no idea what to say. When he tries to imagine the conversation, all he can picture is kissing her again. Because _holy crap._ Why would anyone who'd kissed Annie Edison ever want to do anything else? And how had he ever managed to forget that? Not that he really had—mostly he'd simply managed to convince himself that it was just his fevered imagination and that the reality hadn't been half as amazing as he remembered. It's impressive how good he is at lying to himself.

He runs possible openers through his mind. _Wanna make out?_ Too juvenile; doesn't address the reason for the little frown she's wearing. _So this is a huge waste of time._ Not the point, and hopefully not even true; they'd found a secret lab, after all, which is way more than he'd been expecting. _I love you, let's get married!_ He's 90 percent sure that's just the fear talking.

…Or 80 percent, at least. Definitely more than 70 percent.

"I know what you're going to say," says Annie, turning around and meeting his eyes. She looks like she's been giving herself a pep talk.

"Good, because I haven't got a fucking clue," he says, frankly.

"You're going to say that it was a mistake, and we should forget about it."

Uh, no, he's pretty sure that wasn't even a consideration. He opens his mouth to tell her this, but she beats him to the punch.

"And you're right."

Wait. "What?"

"It was a mistake, and we should forget about it—like we did four years ago." She smiles like she doesn't mean it. "I know you care about me, and I guess it's never been a secret that I—I have feelings for you," she continues, powering through. "But if you'd ever felt anything comparable, we'd have gotten together by now. So it's okay, Jeff. We were both upset, and I understand there was nothing real there. Let's just put it behind us and get back to saving the school."

She spins around, and for once he's left speechless. And again, before he can do or say anything, the dean reappears, shortly followed by Britta and Abed. It's like a curse. Annie is poking at the jukebox at the far end of the room, with her back turned, and there's nothing he can think of to say, except that she is wrong, _so_ wrong.

\---

"I know this isn't exactly my usual MO, but... can we talk?"

Just the sound of his voice is enough to make her blush again. It keeps sweeping over her, every time she thinks about how the room lit up and all the machines burst into life, and when she turned around, Jeff was _staring at her_. Over his shoulder, Raquel was smiling benignly, but everyone else had fallen silent, looking awkwardly between the two of them, like spectators at a tennis match. His expression had been hard to read—challenge and question and appeal, all at once.

There hadn't been time to discuss it then—the school needed saving and time was of the essence—so she'd pushed back everything she was feeling and wondering and hoping, tucking it all away for _later_.

And apparently later is now. The school is safe (or as safe as it ever was), and Subway has retreated in the face of 'Vice Dean Borchert'. Surprisingly, none of their friends have come to talk to her about it, and she finds herself involuntarily looking across the room at Britta. The other woman is watching them, and she gives Annie a hesitant smile that's definitely a little conflicted. Behind Britta, Abed gives an encouraging thumbs-up, and then nods his head towards Shirley and Hickey: oh god, that is _definitely_ her cue to leave.

"Come on," she says, grabbing Jeff's shirt. "Abed's going to tell Shirley."

"Oh god," says Jeff, and follows her quickly out of the room.

She ducks into the nearest empty classroom, and Jeff closes the door behind them, leaning back against it, and wow, was he always this tall and solid and handsome? She swallows and backs up, perching on the edge of the desk while she tries to think of what to say.

_So, hey, how about that thing in the lab just now? Wasn't that weird? Were you really looking at me when the computer restarted? What do you think it meant? Do you think it meant anything? ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH ME?_

"Did you know that would happen, when you hooked yourself up to the computer—did you know it would open the door?" She shakes her head at herself. "I mean, did you think it might?"

Jeff shrugs, which is entirely unhelpful and makes her want to smack him.

"It was probably just a glitch—just a coincidence, right?" She gives a fake little laugh, not sure where she's going with this but not sure how to stop the words spilling out of her. "I mean, computers that restart with a 'blast of human passion', that's ridiculous. After all that cocaine, obviously Borchert doesn't know what he's talking about. It's not like computers can even tell one emotion from another, after all, so giving it any kind of credence—"

"I tried everyone else first," says Jeff. His eyes widen, like he can't believe he's actually going to say this. She can't believe it, either. "Except Borchert, but I'm pretty sure I don't have any strong feelings for him. Nothing happened until I looked at you."

She just gapes at him.

"I had no idea if it would work," he adds, "but I figured that, if there was even a grain of truth to Borchert's claim, that was our best shot for getting the door open. By using how I feel about you."

She's still gaping at him.

"I just thought you should know, after what you said earlier. Because there is something there. Something real. Fuck, this is terrifying," he adds, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. He shoves his shoulders off the door, and starts to pace.

She manages to close her mouth at last, but she's still staring at him, wide-eyed. Even now, after all they've been through today, she never expected him to come out and admit the truth: that he has feelings—real, actual, strong feelings—for her.

"What about you?" he asks nervously, after the silence between them has dragged on for a little too long. "Do you... are you still..."

"If I was hooked up to Borchert's machine right now, I could probably power it for the next thirty years," she tells him, hurrying the words out before she loses her nerve. "If that's how it even works, I don't pretend to understand the mechanics."

Jeff's grin is sudden and blinding. "Yeah?"

She nods. Her grin is probably equally as unrestrained, and for a moment they just stand there, beaming at each other.

Jeff is—inevitably—the first to blink. His smile turns wry, like he knows he's looked uncool for thirty whole seconds. And, honestly, the moment was getting to be a little too much for her as well—she's not used to this level of emotion from Jeff. It's a little like standing in the full glare of the summer sun: amazing, intense, but a relief to get back into the shade all the same.

She wants to ask 'now what?', but something makes her hesitate. She hates to doubt him, now that he seems to have decided to be honest, but she's felt before like they were on the brink of something, only for him to let her down. She's reluctant to put herself out there again, to make herself vulnerable when he could, at any moment, tell her that it's all a mistake, that he didn't mean it like _that_.

So she waits for him to make the next move. Jeff eyes her, and his smile melts, spreading into a smirk in acknowledgement of her silent challenge.

"I guess asking if you want to pick up where we left off would be kind of inappropriate right now," he says.

"Mm," she says neutrally. Not that she'd be entirely averse—but it wouldn't resolve anything.

"So, uh… Annie."

She waits.

"Do you—I mean, would you like to—are you…"

She waits some more.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She grins—and waits.

And suddenly, it's like a switch has been flipped. He straightens, his chin goes up, and his eyes go dark and predatory. "No more games, Annie," he says, in a low, serious voice that she feels in her gut. "A long time ago, you asked me whether or not I wanted you. Well I've finally got an answer for you: I want you so much they could hook me up and cold-start the Large Hadron Collider."

Maybe it's her imagination, but just like before, it's like the room lights up and the world bursts into life around them.

He stalks forward, and she holds her ground with difficulty. She's spent all day not kissing him (okay, technically she's spent the last four years not kissing him, but these last few hours had been the hardest), and now that she's re-entering his orbit, all she wants to do is crash and burn. He stops only inches away, looming over her, using all his physical presence—not to intimidate, but to overwhelm her senses. She finds herself leaning back, aligning herself with the angle of his body, and his hand comes out to support her—gently, much more tentative than his next words would suggest.

"So now, with your permission, I'm going to take you."

Her hand is on his arm. Slowly, deliberately, she moves it up, caressing over his bicep, curling around his shoulder and up to the back of his neck. He leans closer, his hand on her back slipping down to her waist. They're sliding together like interlocking puzzle pieces—smoothly, seamlessly. When at last they are warmly chest to chest, and every tiny shift serves only to bring them closer, their lips a breath apart and their eyes drifting shut, Jeff sighs her name.

" _Annie._ "

It's all the answers she ever wanted, wrapped up in one word, with no room for confusion or obfuscation.

There's only one response, of course, but she takes her time, brushing her lips lightly against his, just a touch of her teeth on his lower lip. She can feel the hairs at the back of his neck prickling, and she smiles, feeling pride, possessiveness, anticipation...

"Jeff," she replies.

\---

The evening sun gently limns Annie's profile as she lies sleeping in Jeff's bed. Jeff is awake, partly because of the thoughts tumbling through his head, and partly because she's stolen all of the pillows and his left arm to sleep on. He watches her sleep, and thinks about mistakes, dumb luck, and telling the truth.

How can the same actions that would have been a huge mistake just hours previously now be everything that's right in the universe? Is he still just kidding himself? He searches for that feeling of wrongness that comes when he's throwing himself headlong into something he'll regret later, but it just isn't there. Sure, he's got plenty of worry that this could go horribly wrong—falling straight into bed with Annie probably wasn't the wisest step—but that nagging awareness that he's on the wrong path is strangely absent. Words are his toys and his weapons, but even he is finding it hard to credit that something as simple as _telling the truth_ can have such a fundamental impact on reality.

Perhaps the simple truth of it is that they were always destined to end up here, however it unfolded and whatever circuitous route they took, that this was always where they were meant to be, and all the other options were wrong, leaving him empty and unsatisfied. He's loved her for so long, he can't remember when it started, and along the way he's somehow forgotten that he can do anything but pine from a distance, like an idiot. But now...

Now, the future possibilities are too intense, too bright, so that even the tiny glimpses he allows himself are enough to make him shift uncomfortably and think about getting up, getting out of the bed and away. Maybe he could go for a run or something, go to the gym, or do fifty push-ups—anything to deaden the feelings a little.

Annie stirs, and gives a long, satisfied sigh. Jeff waits for her reaction, half afraid that she's (also) going to panic—but she merely rolls over and tucks herself more comfortably against him, eyes staying closed. He feels a pang of longing so intense that it takes his breath away, even though she's right there, the terror he was feeling a moment ago transmuting into a compulsion to never let her go. It's like she could never be close enough, and the feeling of having her in his arms is simultaneously satisfying and completely inadequate.

"Are you freaking out righ' now?" she mumbles into his chest.

"Mm. Kinda," he admits, pressing his lips to her hair and breathing in deeply. He wonders if she can feel his heart pounding.

“Well stoppit.” Annie reaches up a hand and clumsily pats his face. “‘Sokay.”

God, she's so disgustingly adorable! He surrenders the fight and gathers her close, feeling the ache diminish a little. Maybe she'll snore, and drool on the pillow—although he'll probably find that cute too, god help him. "Gee, thanks, I feel so much better," he says, glad her eyes stay closed so she can't see the besotted smile he's wearing.

"Mnuh."

They lie in silence for a while, long enough for his heart rate to slow down a bit, and his urgent need for her to dial back into something a little more manageable, a little less desperate (he still hopes she's up for one more round before she leaves his bed, though, because he is nowhere close to being sated). He thinks she's gone back to sleep, so he's startled when she speaks again.

"I don't regret this, because it's been a long time coming," she says, sounding wide-awake now. "But if you're worried, we can step back a little—you know, ease off the gas."

His first instinct is to say 'no!', roll her beneath him, and demonstrate how much he doesn't want to ease off anything—but for the sake of getting this right, he gives it some actual thought. "No," he says, when he's mostly sure that's not his libido talking. "No, you're right, this has been a long time coming. I'll probably freak out either way, but it's weirdly easier to handle when you're right here. Does that make sense?"

He feels her nod fervently. "Then I know it's really happening," she says. "And I haven't completely lost it and stepped into some delusional perfect world."

Okay, he's definitely feeling a little smug now, knowing that her 'perfect world' involves him and a bed. But that's not exactly why it works for him, and maybe he needs to tell her why. "For me, it's more like... like I can stop tying myself up in knots," he says, feeling his way through the explanation. "When I'm alone, I get stuck in my own head, and I psych myself out. There are, like, a thousand different ways I could screw this up, you know."

She rubs his chest, clearly meaning it as a comforting gesture, but it makes all his skin tingle, and that need surges back through his veins. "Just talk to me," she urges him. "We'll work it out. We're actually pretty great at that, you know."

"Yeah," he says, breathlessly. "Talking. Good idea." Her hand trails—soothingly?—down his abs, and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on her words, and not on the sensations she's creating. It's kind of impossible. "Or... not talking," he suggests hopefully. "Also an option."

"Hmm?" Her hand pauses lightly over his navel, and if it weren't for fact that her breathing has picked up, he'd think she had no idea what she's doing. But she does, the minx, and so he feels no guilt when he pounces, making her squawk in surprise. He looks down to find her blue eyes gleaming up at him, and she's so fucking beautiful, he has no clue how he managed to hold out against her for so long—or why. 

Sleeping with a woman is, for Jeff, normally an exercise in building a persona: finding the right words to say, the right moves to make at the right moment. Some people might call it lying, or game-playing, although he's always thought of it as creative seduction. But with Annie, it feels more like he's gradually, carefully, lowering his guard, showing her the sides of himself that he rarely lets out, saying some of the things that he's kept locked inside for so long.

"I'm an idiot," he says. "Aren't I?"

Annie smiles. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. Maybe a little slow on the uptake."

He moves his hand just so, making her mouth drop open. The way her eyelids flutter has nothing whatsoever to do with Disney.

"Never let it be said that Jeff Winger never learns," he says.

"You said that," she points out, breathlessly. "You say it a lot."

"Yes, well... never let it be said that... oh fuck, forget it." The time he spends arguing with her could be much better spent on kissing her again.

Because if he's learned one thing today, it's that sometimes he needs to shut up, close his eyes, and jump.

\---


End file.
